“It is forbidden to kill; therefore, all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets.”

Voltaire. 1771.

The ship had begun it’s ‘evening – cycle’ and the lights without the cell had been dimmed accordingly so that, as the man worked, he was not immediately aware of the presence of the child.

Gul Yomat Ghallir put down the Datapad that his captors had provided him, a device with which to perpetuate the crowning irony of a once – great career often typified by a gnawing sense of ignominy, to rub the tiredness from his eyes and note that he was being watched (when was he not?) by a presence lingering just outside of the shimmer of the containment field.

Plaintively regarding him, with a quizzical frown, was a young Cardassian girl.

Yomat put down the device with its machinations scrolling onscreen and set the tablet to one side on the hard cot that was the cell’s only furnishing. He folded his long, grey hands on the lap of his prisoner’s garb and regarded the girl with equal frankness.

“Hello.” Gul Ghallir greeted.

“Hello.” Replied the Girl, with disarming frankness.

“And what is your name?” The True Way leader raised a quizzical eyebrow of his own, this unexpected intrusion providing a welcome distraction and respite from thus aiding his captors.

The girl looked at the captive and shrugged as she slurped on a hard – candy, toothily and noisome.

“My name is Challa.” The girl confirmed as she rolled the garishly striped stick from one side of her mouth to the other, trying to find the optimum equilibrium where she could speak and still realistically enjoy the treat.

“Hello Challa, my name is Yomat. I’m pleased to meet you.” The Cardassian terrorist greeted the girl politely and cordially, correctly surmising that this must be one of the survivors of the New Providence colony that Captain Shavda had claimed to liberate. Interesting that she was allowed to roam the ship so?

The girl nodded as if this was all par – for – the – course and took the candy out of her mouth when she noticed that the man’s eyes seemed distracted by the garrulous back – and – forth motion, that it was wetly – describing across her lips.

She looked at the candy and then held it out to the man and explained.

“It’s called ‘Peppermint sticks’.” Challa explained with all seriousness, her young eyes widening in earnestness.

“It’s about, literally, the BEST thing that you could ever eat!” She happily remonstrated with a satisfied sigh and then she remembered her manners and dug into the pockets of her clothing, producing another white and green striped stick (tutting slightly as she brushed some accumulated lint from one end) and held it out in offering to Yomat.

“They’re amazing! You should really try one! I mean, not just you – EVERYONE should!” She smiled enthusiastically and then her smile faltered as the candy connected with the forcefield, which shimmered and spat a crackle of static discharge that made her jerk her hand back in surprise and clutch the candy closer to her thin chest.

Challa frowned deeply, as if pondering some new mystery.

“Why are you in there?” She asked dubiously, as if noticing that Yomat was a prisoner for the first time. “Have you been bad? She probed and slowly slipped her own peppermint stick back in a mouth that had become a thin line of suspicion.

Gul Yomat Ghallir swung his long legs from the cot, his feet coming to rest upon the bare floor of the cell and placed his hands on his knees. His face as a mask of concealed amusement, tinged with something infinitely more dangerous.

“Well, that is the million – credit question really, isn’t it?” Ghallir baited challengingly.

“Well, have you?” Challa demanded, rolling the toe of her shoe around on the point of her toe and peered at the Gul with the unabashed directness particular only to children that have yet to climb the tainted, rolling incline that leads towards adulthood.

Gul Ghallir regarded the child, and his eyes narrowed as he reasoned.

“Well, I suppose that largely depends on what you consider to be ‘bad’ really, doesn’t it?”

The girl thought about this for a while, the recent trauma she had experienced on her homeworld at the hands of the Vaadwaur invaders and the tragic, terrible loss of Peter leaving her with certitude in her answer.

“I guess, killing people and stuff?” Challa replied tentatively, “That’s bad. Have you done that?”

Gul Yomat Ghallir, once a decorated Officer of the Cardassian High Command and celebrated veteran of both the Federation-Cardassian War and the travesty that was the Dominion war, the man who felt the betrayal of capitulation of the Detapa Council  and had rallied like-minded patriots to his banner to keep the “True Way” alive, had indeed been responsible for the deaths of countless thousands.

“Yes.” Yomat confirmed simply and without emotion. “Yes, I have.” He nodded.

Challa’s eyes narrowed accusingly.

“So, you are bad then.” The girl reasoned, pointing her half – chewed peppermint – stick at Gul Ghallir, the soggy – end punctuating her sentence like a bizarre judge’s – gavel. She popped it back in her mouth, as if to reward herself for resting such an excellent prosecution and folded her arms and said simply.

“And you should be in there then.”

Amused by this fractious debate, Gul Ghallir nodded his head once and then looked up at Challa with his piercing, yellow eyes.

“Possibly.” Yomat conceded the technicality with an amused pout but then leaned forward and fixed the girl with a telling look and spoke questioningly.

“But what right do these people have to imprison me so?”

Challa frowned massively.

“What do you mean?” The girl replied, mightily perplexed. Adults could be so…weird…sometimes, but Challa had often found that if you stuck through all of the boring stuff (and Gods – know, there was a LOT), that sometimes they ended up saying something quite interesting or at least less boring that the rest of the things they normally said – so she resolved to hang on for the ride on this logic – train.

Yomat sat pointed his finger towards her and explained with utter seriousness.

“You are Cardassian.”

The True Way commander reversed his finger and pointed to his own, grey chest.

“I am Cardassian.”

(Challa rolled her eyes, maybe this was going to be one of the insufferably dull, adult conversations after all?).

Ghallir spread his hands wide to encompass the confines of the cell, the Brig and the ship beyond.

“These people are not Cardassian.” Ghallir nodded sagely, “Yet they have the arrogance to think that they can govern what we do, where we go, what we should think, what we can say – our very freedoms as a sovereign people, with absolute impunity!”

Challa looked deeply troubled by this missive, even if she had no idea what an ‘Impunity’ was.

“But the Federation is nice, they saved us.” The girl tried to reason out her fledgling argument, feeling a hot flush of resentment burgeon in her frail chest.

‘Starfleet stopped the Vaadwaur from destroying my home. They killed Peter! Harry Trench saved me and he’s going to protect me; he’s going to protect us all!!” Challa retorted defiantly.

Yomat looked on the child with piteous eyes. Had the Federation’s hegemony pervaded even thus far? Had the crowing – victor’s cultural colonialism circumvented their national pride and thus subverted and permeated their once – proud civilization to the extent that this innocent child, standing before him, had become an unknowing but willing puppet – an ignorant interlocutor of their lubricious agenda?

“No, child.” Ghallir shook his head sadly.

“No, the Federation has been and always will be our enemy.” The True Way leader espoused, “Since our people’s first encountered each other, ours has been a struggle against the Federation and their Starfleet. Our history is defined by our desire to realize our own potential and destiny despite their constant and persistent intent to subjugate our will and dismantle our future.”

Challa didn’t really understand what the Gul was talking about. Yes, a lot of humans could be cruel and mean in her short experience, but Peter hadn’t been. Peter had been kind and Peter had been fun & funny, and he hadn’t asked for anything apart from the opportunity to be her friend.

But Gul Yomat Ghallir was proselytizing now, his rhetorical – trieste needed an audience – but cared little for their opinions, as he justified his acts of terror.

“I’m locked up here because I love our people, child.” Yomat’s eyes flashed with a dangerous fervor, his voice acrimonious and tinged with bitterness.

“I’m held here thus, because I see the injustice that the United Federation of Planets, in its loathsome arrogance, has long seen fit to impose upon our people!”

The Gul stood up, seemingly toweringly tall and brimming with frightful presence, causing Challa to unconsciously step back a faltering step, as he approached the confines of the field.

“So, yes, child!” Gul Yomat Ghallir gazed omnipotently down at the young Cardassian girl with a look of utterly – convinced righteousness in his cause.

“Yes, I have killed – in the protection of our people! Yes, I have killed to ensure a return to our traditional culture and ways of life!”

“And, YES! I will kill again and again and keep on doing so, until our people are free! Free to determine our own future and take our rightful place in the Galaxy – as nature intended – and be free once again!”

Challa stood looking up at this giant of a man, towering above her like some vengeful titan from the oldest tales. His resolve seemed so implacable. His arguments so persuasive. His commitment so absolute. What could a mere child, such as she, say or do in the face of such overwhelming dominance?”

“Killings not right.” Challa said in a small, but sure voice. “It never is. It’s just hurting people for made – up reasons and it’s evil and it’s wrong.”

Gul Yomat Ghallir gazed down in mute disappointment at this audacity and the ignorance of this child and was about to admonish her and thus plant his vexatious seed of discontent in her fallow mind, when an equally strong and sure voice interrupted his diatribe.

“You got that right, Kid.” Rumbled Harry Trench, as the Chief Security Officer entered the Brig and was dismayed to see the child talking to the prisoner.

A linebacker in his Academy Days, Harry proceeded upon the cell with a sure and inevitable approach and gently laid a massive hand on Challa’s shoulder. He looked down at her and frowned massively.

“You shouldn’t be in here kid…….” Harry cautioned and shot a glare over to the duty security Officer, who now was looking sheepish at this infraction. Trench couldn’t really blame them, since the Kid had come aboard, she had been following him around like a shadow he couldn’t shake and over the course of time the Security – crew had gotten used to having her around, even going as far as to unofficially adopt her as some sort of mascot.

She seemed to somehow wander wherever she damn well pleased, the ultimate 11-year-old security countermeasure.

Nevertheless, hard words were going to be had with certain staff at the end – of – shift debrief. That you could take to the bank.

Challa looked up at him with those big, dark – eyes of hers and replied disarmingly.

“Yes, Harry Trench. I am sorry.”

Trench’s furrowed brow grew even more cavernous and deeply perplexed. Weighing in at 245lbs and able to debilitate or kill an opponent in one of several lethally effective ways – somehow, he had no natural defence able to counter the earnestness of the child.

“This man is no one you want to be talking to, Kid.” Harry warned in all seriousness.

“I know Harry Trench.” Challa nodded sombrely. “He is a bad man.”

Harry met Gul Ghallir’s gaze unwaveringly. It was akin to suddenly realizing that an iceberg had somehow hoved into the path of your course and had decided to engage you in a staring competition.

“Yes, he is.” Harry said as he took Challa’s hand in his. “Don’t you pay no mind to what comes out of his mouth, Kid.” The big Security Chief advised her.

“People like him only have so much power as what we give them. That’s why he’s locked up and that’s why we keep him that way. If he can’t try to put his ideas into other people’s minds – then he’s scared that he won’t be anything at all!”

Gul Ghallir let out a derisive snort and crossed his arms, mocking.

“And I suppose that is why you people stole me away to ignore those very ideas, is it Lieutenant – Commander?” The terrorist mocked.

Harry graced the killer with an unreadable look and declined to rise to the barb, instead he put a protective hand on Challa’s shoulder to lead her away and commented simply.

“Because a child is present, I will stay my hand. But mark my words and make no mistake, if you ever try to speak to her again, I will drop that forcefield and brother – when I do, I will not stay my hand again!”

“See, child?” Gul Yomat Ghallir crawed, “See how they seek to separate us all from each other, through violence, even now?!”

But his jibes just fell upon Trench’s broad, receding back as he led the child away.

“I’m serious Kid.” He rumbled as they departed. “You can’t just go wandering off by yourself. It can be dangerous.”

“I know Harry Trench. I am sorry. But I wasn’t ‘wandering – off’, I was looking for you!”

A pause as the big – man sighed.

“I know Kid, but I gotta take you to the transporters. Captain’s ordered that all Civilians be evacuated to accommodations in the Belt. We can’t risk going to war with you onboard.” Trench explained as patiently he could.

“But I don’t want to go Harry Trench!” Challa protested. “You said that you would protect me, and I want to stay with you!”

“Sorry kid – Captain’s orders. You gotta go.”

Another pause.

“Did your Captain mention me specifically?”

A sigh.

“She didn’t have to – it’s implied.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that you gotta do what she says, Kid.”

“I’m scared of being ‘beamed’!’ Challa tried a different tactic. “What if they can’t find all of the bits of me to put back together and I end up with a leg where my hand should be or I have no ears?!”

For a long moment, Harry reflected on the blissful advantages that being bereft of ears (even for a short time) would bring. Then he shook his head and assured.

“Chief Hadley is the best Transporter Captain in the Fleet, Kid. One time he managed to put me down on the back of a moving comet from warp.””

Another pause.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Then, resigned and petulant.

“Well, okay then Harry Trench. If the Captain needs me to go I will, but don’t think that I will be sharing any of my Peppermint – sticks with you! I don’t know if this “The Belt” will even have any!”

Harry tried not to smile.

“I’ll try to live with it. C’mon, Kid, let’s go get you packed.”